


Touch

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [17]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: Angst, Class Differences, F/M, Repressed Feelings, Servants, The angst is ramped up here!, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 05:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30100704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: A trip to the theatre leads to awkwardness and revelations about something that they both desperately crave but shouldn't be.-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Mr Turton! He's been sacked with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules.1840s Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. Takes place after the finale of the TV series and after the book has finished.Based upon the character Amos Turton, played by the gorgeous Paul Ritter.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!
Series: A New Start [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321





	Touch

"So Mr Turton… I heard that you rescued her Ladyship from a near miss last week, outside the lawyers was it…?" Mrs Brown asked, smirking up at him from over her teacup.

Daisy's eyes shot up, gasping and Mr and Mrs Jones both looked towards him.

_That bloody woman has eyes and ears everywhere!_ Mr Turton thought.

"How I heard it, Mr Turton here whisked her Ladyship right out of a galloping cab horse's path! And just in the nick of time!"

"Oh! How gallant of you Mr Turton!" Daisy sighed, staring at him with dewey eyes.

Mrs Brown stared at Mr Turton.

Mr Turton narrowed his eyes at Mrs Brown.

"It was nothing, just a runaway horse, nothing of note," he waved a hand to dismiss the conversation.

"Runaway horses can be very dangerous! Luckily my two are very well behaved," Mr Jones added proudly while his wife patted his hand. "She had a lucky escape it sounds like," he added.

"Hmmm…" Mr Turton frowned, not liking how he felt his face heating at all the attention. "I only did what anyone else would have done," he added quietly.

"Oh! Look at the time Mr Turton! Aren't you supposed to be escorting her Ladyship to the Adelphi this morning?" Mrs Brown enquired, again smirking over at him. 

"Yeeees… She is to visit the first showing of a play there," he answered. "And anyway, she asked you first Mrs Brown as I recall, but you refused?" he said as he finished his tea and stood.

"Oh yes, I'm to visit my sister, we had tickets for a local art exhibition, already bought and booked. Such a shame," Mrs Brown sighed. "So I suggested that she takes you along instead, Mr Turton. Knowing how much you _loves_ Shakespeare," she cackled. "It is a charity event after all. The production done by the troupe she sponsors, made up of men and women who were servants if I recalls correctly."

"Yes, thank you as ever Mrs Brown _the art critic!_ " he glared at her before striding out towards his room, accompanied by her laughter. 

The thought of sitting through three ghastly hours of a play, that might as well be in a foreign language, did not appeal to him at all. So he was deathly glad when Mrs Morgan had asked Mrs Brown first instead of him. Something he ordinarily would have felt a pang of sadness at - at not being her Ladyship's first choice in something. The only sweetener for this morning's tedium would be that he would be spending time with her Ladyship.

-

Mr Jones dropped them off in plenty of time for the eleven am start. Mr Turton looked around, glancing here and there at the large crowd that surrounded them as they stood outside the theatre. He sighed as he realised that they'd have to somehow cleave a path through the large throng to reach the entrance.

"This way My Lady, stay close please," he weaved his way through the crowd, parting the waves like Moses with his loud, authoritative voice. He knew she was there, following behind him, as he felt the gentle touch of one of her hands on his shoulder. Her other hand was pressed onto his back as she trailed along in his wake. Those two touch points both reassured him that she followed him closely and pleased him. He was doing his job correctly, as her protector.

They eventually entered the playhouse safely and made their way towards the box office. A mix of relief at arriving safely and sadness at losing her touch.

"Thank you Mr Turton," she walked around and in front of him, presenting her tickets. 

An usher appeared to escort them up to a box. Mr Turton frowned at the young man as he placed his hand upon Lady Morgan's back pushing her along in front of him. He harrumphed and the young man snapped his hand away, taking a step back. Lady Morgan smiled up at Mr Turton as he moved himself between her Ladyship and the young usher. The young man was shooed away by Mr Turton's glare as soon as they arrived at their private box.

"So Mr Turton, I'm assuming that this is the first of Mr Shakespeare's plays that you've attended?" she asked as she walked through the door that he held open for her. His fingers lightly brushed against her back, a contrast to her treatment earlier, not pushing or forcing her, but merely asking her permission. She nodded in reply and settled into one of the chairs that he steadied for her.

"Yes my Lady. I've been to the theatre a few times, but never for one of Mr Shakespeare's plays, and never up here. I usually sat in the pits, down below," he nodded towards the crowded area directly in front of the stage where men milled and mixed together in a large, messy group. He sucked in a breath as he noticed the ubiquitous prostitutes, none too shy about advertising their trade. He hoped that his comment didn't imply that _they_ were the reason he went to the theatre or the area he chose to sit. He'd only put up with the smelly, sweaty press of the pits, as they were the only seats he could afford. He was positively glad that he was up here now and not down there amongst all _that_. In-between the pickpockets and the _handsy_ women, even an octopus would be hard pressed to keep all the pitfalls of the pits away from oneself.

Mrs Morgan peered at where he motioned, noting how it was mostly a sea of black and dark brown, the same colour as her companion's suit. The dark sea was interspersed and dotted with bright splashes of colours where a woman was sat. She noticed how _closely_ some of those women were sitting to, or _on_ in some cases, their partners. _Their clients,_ she corrected herself. Her eyes flicked from them to Mr Turton who was also staring down at the pits, a frown upon his face. _Oh! Maybe he wishes he was back down there instead?_ she thought.

The orchestra announced the start of act one, snapping the both of them out of their musings and redirecting their attention towards the stage.

Mr Turton took a deep breath and mentally braced himself against the agony that lay ahead. He glanced over at Lady Morgan, she was leaning forwards, her hands resting on the edge of their box's balcony, smiling widely down at the stage. She gasped as the curtains opened, revealing the first scene. 

Three witches gathered around a cauldron, stirring. _Just a normal, typical scene,_ he thought, tutting to himself.

He lost track of how many times he had to ask her to explain a sentence, or who was who. Although he smiled to himself as it was the perfect excuse to tap her arm, or more daringly, to touch her hand with one of his fingers. In the end, she didn't wait for his questions, but instead tugged on his sleeve.

"Can you please lean down Mr Turton… you are so remarkably tall!"

He chuckled and complied.

She then took to leaning towards him and whispering the plot to him as it went along instead of waiting for him to ask. _A bloody ghost! What?!_ Being one of the more surprising details she enlightened him with.

He angled himself lower, leaning his head further down towards her, allowing himself to creep closer towards her the longer the play progressed. This was only to allow her to whisper her explanations to him all the more easier he justified to himself. This may not have been his best move though. His fingers gripped his knees, digging in tightly as her breath tickled the shell of his ear as she spoke. If someone had asked him what she had just that second spoke to him, he wouldn't have been able to say. So all he could do was nod and murmur positively as she spoke. _Pull yourself together man! You've been close to women before!_ he chided himself. _She's your employer, your superior. And definitely not interested in a lowly sort of man such as you in that way!_ His distraction only increased as she took to gaining his already scattered attention by touching the back of his hand. Her fingers grazed his skin in a reversal of his actions earlier.

She was delighted at how Mr Turton seemed to be enjoying the play so much. He even leaned down towards her so that she could help him understand what was going on. She revelled in his closeness, even if it was just for the sake of the play. _Nothing else!_ Even daring to lightly brush the back of his hand with her fingertips. The barest breeze of a touch to his skin. He didn't flinch. So she did it again. The excitement of his nearness goaded her on, daring her onwards. Even though she knew it was utterly futile. _He doesn't see me. Not like that. Not like those women down there,_ she thought sadly.

"Look Mr Turton, this is the best bit!" she said, her breath fast with excitement. A mix of the high drama of the play and his closeness had her worked her up to such a peak that she forgot herself and dropped her hand onto the back of his, where it rested on the balcony, grabbing onto it just as Macbeth was about to die.

He froze! She did something that he really wasn't expecting! Instead of placing her hand on his forearm as she leant into him to whisper something, she placed her hand directly upon him. Her palm covered the back of his hand. Remaining there until he whispered a 'yes?' to her. It was a decidedly high pitched 'yes'. He coughed self consciously, trying to clear his embarrassment as well as his tightened throat. 

She heard him cough and yanked her hand away. She felt ashamed at her brazenness. She shouldn't be doing that, he wasn't hers, he never would be. He obviously didn't like it, judging from the way he coughed and whipped his hand away from under hers as soon as she relaxed her grip.

His breath sped with excitement at her touch. His fingers gripped his knees even tighter. He wasn't entirely certain if he wanted the play to end right then or for it to go on for another three hours.

-

The noisy crowd was worse as they exited the theatre, throngs of loud, excitable people milled about. Everything heightened by the added fuel of the alcohol that was sold inside. She was jostled and knocked into him, so again, he stood in front of her, shielding her from the worst of it as he weaved a path for them. Again, he placed a hand behind him to keep her close. Even so, she got barged into and lost her grip on his shoulder. He paused and backtracked, catching up to her, collecting her from where she was stuck, wide eyed and frozen. This time she grabbed his hand, the hand held behind him instead of his shoulder as she was once more jostled by the rowdy, alcohol fuelled crowd. His mind inwardly imploded at this, _her hand in his!_ But he held her tight, his role here was as her protector and he would play his part to the best of his abilities. Having gathered his shredded wits, he continued onwards. Her small warm hand cocooned within the firm grip of his larger, rougher one. Protected from everything and anything, just as he'd promised. He explained away this sought out touch of hers as just a necessity, a need for his protection, nothing else. _Anything else would be utterly ridiculous!_ She swiftly released her grip when they were out of the crowd, blushing up at him. _See, she obviously does not feel as I do anyway, even if anything was possible, which it most definitely isn't!_

"Um… er… thank you Mr Turton. Ah… I feel like the exit from the theatre held more drama than the actual play! In fact, I feel in need of a bracing cup of tea to recover!" Her voice was shaky and her hands flapped around her like a brace of over skittish doves, embarrassed by her grabbing of his hand and taking advantage of his good nature. _I need to stop myself_ , she warned herself, _I need to calm down_. "In fact… I know of an establishment nearby in Westminster. It's on our route back, so will not take us out of our way," she suggested. "That is, if you don't mind Mr Turton? I know how busy you are and if you need to get back. You've kept me company and looked after me most ably… but I will completely understand if you need to get back… to relieve yourself of my company…"

"No my Lady. It is no trouble at all," he cut her excuses off right there.

-

Mr Turton was stared at as he entered the tea rooms. An object of curiosity as he prowled straight past the plethora of pages and footmen that were gathered outside the entrance, instead of joining them in waiting there for their mistresses to finish. Lady Morgan was in turn stared at by all the disdainful, haughty ladies inside for daring to take tea with what appeared to be a _man servant_. He's not in his uniform. But his suit - it's not a gentleman's attire. And his gait. They both easily give him away.

They are both feeling uncomfortable, both on the wrong side of stupid convention.

"Maybe this was a mistake, Mr Turton," she leaned towards him, whispering.

"I think you may be correct my Lady…" he answered, his eyes moving to take in the whispering and looks that had been following on their heels as soon as they entered the shop.

She shot up, standing. He joined her, holding his elbow out to her, for her to place her arm on as he escorted her out, his head held high for both of them. Her face dropped, and she shrank as all around them stared at the pair as they stalked out without ordering. Chased out by prying eyes.

"My Lady, we are only a half hour walk from Belgravia… If I might make a suggestion? I know of a better place there, where all classes mix readily," he said, trying to cheer her up after he saw how her mood had fallen.

"Oh! Yes! Do lead on Mr Turton. It can't be as bad as my awful idea!" she frowned and looked away and down.

"No my Lady, there was nothing wrong with your suggestion. It was just the people within that were the problem there," he answered. Which he knew wasn't entirely the truth. The truth was that they should never have gone in there. That they shouldn't be socialising. He shouldn't be… whatever he was to her… except her butler. But he didn't want to voice any of that to her or to himself. Not when he was trying to cheer her up. Not when he was trying to protect her. From what though? _From yourself!_ a small part of him said.

-

He pulled a chair out for her to take a seat at what used to be his usual table in the House & Groom. 

A barmaid recognised him, ambling over and placing a bottle of gin on the table in front of him without his asking. She paused, glancing at Lady Morgan, taking note of her attire and giving Mr Turton a knowing 'you sly old dog' smirk, before asking him "Will it be two glasses that you'll be wanting today now, Mr Turton?" 

He nodded, returning the barmaid's smirk with a hard stare.

They are seated next to each other at their table, backs against the wall of the establishment, peering out at the noise and the ebb and flow of people around them. He had already swiftly downed one glass and was onto his second, while Lady Morgan was still daintily sipping on her first. 

She gasped. Then leant towards him.

"Look! Over there! No, _there!_ That's the _Chancellor!_ " she whispered at him.

"Oh… yes…" Mr Turton recognised him. The Lord wasn't alone though. He was accompanied by three young ladies. Although they decidedly were not _ladies_. And they were accompanying him _rather closely_. Maybe taking Lady Morgan here wasn't the best of ideas.

Lady Morgan giggled.

Mr Turton turned towards her and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you did say that you saw the whole gamut of society in here. And you're right, as always!" 

He smirked down at her, causing her to laugh.

He pointed out several Lords and their 'companions', placing a hand on her arm each time. She gasped at each of his noticings, holding her hands over her mouth and giggling. She tapped the back of his hand with a finger, leaning towards him, pointing out a famous actress and also whispering that the man she was with was not her husband. She held her glass out towards him, her eyes smiling up at him, glittering with mischief. 

"Are you sure, My Lady?" he asked. "It's maybe not the most _refined_ of beverages."

"Oh, yes!" she nodded enthusiastically and waggled her empty glass. "I've not had so much fun in years!"

He poured her half a glass, she frowned, he rolled his eyes and filled her glass.

He excused himself as he went off to order some food. Thinking that something to eat may be a good idea if she was intent on drinking. He watched her as she sat alone at their table. She was smiling, watching everyone, she turned her face towards him, catching his eye, smiling at him, her face flushed. _Flushed with the blasted gin,_ he thought. He offered her a quick smile then turned away, helping himself to a glass of gin from the bottle on the serving counter. Downing it in one gulp.

A young, well dressed dandy licked his lips as he spotted an enticing opportunity, one that was far too good to miss out on. He sauntered over towards the beautiful woman sitting all by herself and leered at her. Leaning across the table, smirking at her from where he stood opposite.

"So…" his oily voice oozed over towards her, "how much would a tasty morsel like you be an hour then, eh?"

She blinked up at him as her mind whirred, skidding to a halt at a sudden understanding of what he meant. " _Oh!_ " she gasped. "You think I'm a… a… _harlot!_ "

"Are… are you not?" he stood back up, confusion writ across his face in the form of a frown.

Mr Turton announced his presence behind the young man with a loud 'Ahem!', glaring at him.

"No! She most definitely is _not!_ " he growled, staring after the idiot youngster, watching with narrowed eyes as the buffoon scurried away, to try his luck elsewhere. 

"I'm so sorry, My Lady," Mr Turton apologised profusely to her. 

"Oh it's nothing, it makes a change from being ignored for being a mere weak female I suppose," Lady Morgan laughed and poured herself another glass of gin. 

_This isn't going to end well,_ he thought as he poured himself another glass, reasoning that the more he drank, the less she would have left from the bottle.

She got steadily tipsier as the afternoon wore on. She's leaning into him now as she asks about the people in the pub. Her leg is pressed up against his. Her hand is resting permanently on his forearm. She gains his attention by placing her hand upon his where it rests flat against the table. His other hand is clasped around his glass. He knows that he should move his hand from the table, nip this behaviour in the bud, for both their sakes, but he doesn't want to. He's enjoying this far too much for his own good. He knows for certain that it's the drink making her act like this. So his hand stays firmly glued to the table. The demon on his shoulder is enjoying her touch too much.

-

He checked on his watch as she finished her meal. "I'm afraid it's time to leave my Lady," he mentioned, chuckling at her pout. She looked exactly like her young daughter when told that she couldn't play with a favourite toy.

Upon standing, Mrs Morgan swayed upon her feet, having to grab hold of his arm to keep herself upright.

"Whoops! I'm sorry Mr Turton, it appears that I'm a little bit um… drunk?" she giggled.

"Here, my Lady," he held his elbow out for her, expecting her to place a hand upon it, instead, she threaded her hand through his, placing her hand in his arm that way. Her other hand waved in front of her.

"Lead on, Mr Turton!" she exclaimed, patting his hand. She didn't notice his strange look and the odd gurgled noise that he emitted. "Come along, Mr Turton, let us walk through the park yes?" she tugged on him again where he stood rooted to the spot.

"Hmm…?" 

"The park?"

"What…?"

She squeezed his hand. "The park Mr Turton!"

"Oh…" he coughed. "Um… _yes_ … the park did you say, my Lady?"

"Yes, Mr Turton! Are you well? Your face has gone rather red… do you have a fever?" she reached up and touched his cheek with a forefinger.

Her touch was like a swift winter storm, it blew away the fog that had swamped his poor brain, snapping him out of his stupor.

"No! Yes! The park! Yes! This way my Lady!" he snatched his hand away from underneath hers and set them to walking. 

-

She held onto his arm for the majority of the walk back. Although their walk through the park took far longer than usual. He had to constantly usher her back onto the path, as she took to wandering away. Escaping his grip and scurrying off upon spotting particularly interesting flowers. Or having to pause to allow her to gasp at and pat a passing dog. He deliberately steered their path away from the Serpentine and it's resident waterfowl. She took to shaking his arm, patting his hand excitedly, gripping his fingers as she spotted a new object to gasp at.

-

Later that night, after he'd finished his usual nightly rounds, he headed down to the kitchen and placed the kettle on the range to boil. 

He sat at the table in the servants dining room, staring into a cup of tea, watching the tendrils of steam drift and evaporate, unable to sleep just yet. His mind was dark and cloudy, full of turbulent, stormy thoughts, all rolling around in his head, keeping him from seeking his slumber. Whispered thoughts of today and implied suggestions of her, of him, _of them._ Bitter knowledge that however much he strove or stretched for, he knew that she was a bloom on the loftiest branch of the tallest of rose bushes, forever out of his reach. _Just as she should be!_ he admonished himself.

He was so torn. He enjoyed her touches so much, but knew, deep down, in the depths of his embattled heart that it was utterly wrong to want what he shouldn't in this way. 

He vowed there and then to stop, to cease, to ignore any stupid _feelings_ that were bubbling and boiling away deep inside him. Not seen or felt before feelings. Feelings that he didn't know how to deal with. _Maybe she has bewitched me, just the witches had with Macbeth?_ he pondered. _And look how well that worked out for him!_ he huffed. No. He would revert to how he was taught. Fall back on what he knew best. Keeping his distance, be the aloof butler. It would hurt, but the quickest cut was always the most painless one.

Anyway, he knew for certain that her touches for him were only due to the excitement of the play or because of the gin. _She would never touch me like that ordinarily!_

"Mr Turton! What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?" 

His head shot upwards, towards his chief vexation. "Mrs Brown! I could ask the same of you!"

She nodded towards the teapot that stood sentinel in the middle of the table. "A fresh brew?" she asked.

He nodded.

She poured herself a cup and sat down opposite him, appraising him. Taking in the deep frown that cleaved his brows in two. "So… Mr Turton… I see that her Ladyship missed dinner this evening. Indisposed with a… headache was it?" she stirred the sugar into her tea and smirked over at him.

_Bloody woman!_ the grip on his teaspoon tightened. "Lady Morgan may have imbibed a tad more gin that was warranted earlier on," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"Oh… gin was it," Mrs Brown stirred her tea. "Gin at the theatre?"

"Noooo… in the public house afterwards," he moved his hands under the table, placing them upon his knees, pressing down to stop his legs from bouncing. _It's pointless trying to lie_ , he thought, _she always manages to find me out._

"Oh. Well now, that's a first. Her Ladyship in a pub!" Mrs Brown said, cackling at the look of disdain that was thrown her way. 

"Well now Mr Turton. It seems like there's a lot of firsts going on recently, here in this house. First time for everything and everyone eh?" she sipped daintily as he stewed opposite her. "Just be careful that the first that you wish to embark on doesn't end up in… messiness. I would hate to see anyone in this household being hurt, including yourself. But know this much, Mr Turton. I'll fight tooth and claw against anyone who upsets her Ladyship," her smirk fell, replaced by a hard stare. Catching his eyes directly as he looked up.

"No, Mrs Brown. You need not worry on that account. In that much, we are of an accord," he threw her challenge back. He finished his cup of tea and stood. "I will wish you goodnight Mrs Brown," he nodded towards her and stalked off, heading towards his room. His mind firmly set on its course now.

Mrs Brown stirred her tea slowly. She knew what was going on here. Knew that there would be only two outcomes. Heartache or… something more… _interesting_. She sipped her tea and plotted. This would need lengthy and careful steering to keep the household on a steady course. To reach a happy destination for all parties. She replaced her empty teacup firmly upon its saucer and smiled. _This drama was so much bette and way more interesting than a mere Shakespearian play!_ she chuckled.

-

The next morning Lady Morgan shuffled into the dining room, embarrassment surrounded her, revealing itself in the glow of her blush as she addressed Mr Turton.

"Um… I feel I need to apologise for my… behaviour yesterday afternoon. I don't think gin particularly agrees with me…" she looked up at him, uncertainty fluttering in her eyes in the way she looked up, then down, then up again at him. Unsure of his response.

"Not to worry My Lady, these things happen," he replied, battling with his face, trying to keep it neutral, having to bite the side of his mouth to push down the smile that wanted to burst free. He pulled her chair out for her, feeding upon the dazzling smile that she bestowed upon him. 

"Oh… you may want to look at page three of the Times this morning, My Lady," he said.

"Page three you say?" she flicked through the pages, scanning her eyes down the contents of page three. 

He knew the exact moment she found the item he wanted her to notice. He watched her smile grow. She looked up at him, her face lit, then turned her attention back to the paper.

"The Lord Chancellor was spotted in the notorious establishment 'The Horse & Groom' yesterday. He was accompanied by three ladies of loose moral fortitude," she laughed. "Mr Turton! I had no idea that we were in a… 'notorious establishment'!" she shook her head, her eyes dancing with mirth as she looked at him.

His smile broke free from his defences, he was powerless to stop it, not when bombarded thusly.

-

He needs to stop. He knows that he must, but he's an addict. He can't.

He engineers occurrences where he can feed his new obsession. Where he gathers small touches like a philatelist obsessively collecting stamps: a hand held out for her to help her down from the carriage; a hand upon her back to escort her into the architect's office; a feather light touch of his finger to her hand to gain her attention.

He also feels the need to test his thesis, that she only touched him because she was tipsy. He satisfied himself as he proves this to be true.

Until a week later that is…

-

She touched the back of his hand with her fingers, a feather light touch, gone as soon as he registered the contact. _What!_ he thought. _What is going on?_ His eyes were glued to the precise spot on his hand where the ghost of her touch lingered. 

"Mr Turton…?"

He stared at the back of his hand.

"Are you alright, Mr Turton?"

At the second voicing of his name, his head snapped up to her face, and he swiftly moved his hands behind his back, clenching his hands together tightly. He coughed and mentally shook himself.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"I've got a copy of the latest spending projections for the new site from the architects. I'd be grateful if you would look over them first before I sign anything. I'm sure that there's nothing awful there, but it wouldn't hurt for someone more numerically aware than me to run their eyes over them, would it?"

"No my Lady, I would gladly check them for you." He followed after her, towards the library where her father's bureau sat.

As they spoke, his fingers moved behind his back. His left thumb pressed against the spot on the back of his hand that Lady Morgan had touched.

**Author's Note:**

> These two are idiots. So much fun to write and watch though! As Mrs Brown knows.


End file.
